


when you find your team

by Deastar



Series: They Say Love Heals All Wounds [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:29:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7376266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastar/pseuds/Deastar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now for something completely different!</p><p>As Geno put it, "D-pair if two," or, a brief adventure in the hockey careers of the teenage Crosby-Malkin spawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you find your team

When it all went terribly wrong, neither Sid nor Geno saw it coming. Oh, there had been warning signs: the twins had gone to every one of the US team’s games at the Tallin Olympics; their rooms were plastered with homemade Hilary Knight posters; they kept up a kind of awkwardly intense text correspondence with Megan Bozek, which had started when Anya had finally gone thrusters-on-full on converting Katya into a defenseman, and had continued until... well, as far as Sid knows, they’re _still_ penpals with Megan Bozek. Maybe they should have seen it coming when the girls were nine and begged, desperately, for matching Team USA jerseys so they could be just like Alex Carpenter – but when they were eight, they’d wanted Team Canada jerseys so they could be just like Aunt Taylor, so how was Sid supposed to know that this was different?

Sid—well, it was silly, but he’d loved seeing the two of them in the Team Canada jerseys, tumbling into the house after practice, tall and gangly like Geno, with his own dark hair and high cheekbones, hockey bags slung over their shoulders. Everyone expected Sid to go into coaching once he retired, but Geno and Taylor were the only ones who knew that Sid had been carefully making contact with management for the women’s national team, making his interest known. Of course, Sid had been interested in coaching women’s hockey even before it had become clear that Anya and Katya were going to the Olympics someday… but there was something special about the image of coaching his little girls (they’re as tall as he is, now, but they’ll always be his little girls) to a gold medal for their country.

The point is, it came out of nowhere. The girls had called a family meeting, and somewhat anxiously had started talking about how of course they loved being with Dad and Papa, and they loved Denver, and they would miss him and Geno so much, but it’s time for them to start developing their hockey more seriously, and when he was their age, he’d moved away from home to focus on hockey, too…

This part, he and Geno had seen coming. They’d made a pact, when the twins started getting seriously interested in hockey, that they would never push hockey on the girls, never be the ones to suggest the next step – if the girls wanted to advance, they’d wait for the girls to bring it up themselves. So they’d been expecting that, with Anya and Katya getting to be high school age, they would want to go to Shattuck St. Mary’s, or one of the other prep schools, or maybe even join a USHL team, and they’d already decided that they’d say yes. They’d miss the girls a lot, but it would have been selfish to clip their wings just to keep them close.

So Sid was just getting ready to say, “Yes, of course,” when Katya said, “And so that’s why we want to accept the invitation to the U.S. National Team Development Program.”

Sid choked.

Geno asked, “The… what?”

“The U.S. National Team Development Program,” Katya repeated. Sid saw her squeeze Anya’s hand, and Anya squeezed back.

“In… Michigan?” Sid asked, hoping this was all some terrible mistake, and was temporarily relieved when Katya wrinkled up her nose and said, “Dad, no!” But his brief moment of happiness was crushed when she went on to say, “That’s the _boys’_ development program. The girls’ program is in Champaign, Illinois.”

Weakly, Sid parroted back, “Illinois. Oh.”

“You two are really serious about this?” Geno asked, and the girls nodded. He and Sid shared a look that said, wordlessly, _Where did we go wrong?_ and then, a second look that said, _But they’re our girls_.

“Of course,” Sid said, trying not to throw up a little in his mouth, shielding like crazy. “Of course you two can join the U.S. National Team Development Program. If that’s what you really want. You’ll be… skating for the U.S. in international competition?”

Anya shrugged. “I mean, it depends on the roster spots. They probably won’t skate us in international competition for the first year. But after that, we think we’re good enough for roster spots in the junior competitions, yeah.”

That hadn’t actually been what Sid was asking about, but it answered his question anyway. He took a deep breath in, let the air back out, and let go of his dream of coaching his little girls to a gold medal for Canada. “They’ll be lucky to have you,” he told them sincerely. “And I think this is a great choice for the two of you – it’ll grow you a lot as players. This is a really smart, grown-up next step for you two, and Papa and I are proud of you.”

Geno nodded and echoed, “Very proud.”

Anya’s eyes were a little wet as she hugged first him and then Geno; Katya didn’t do public displays of vulnerability, but her arms around him were tighter than usual, and Sid held on just as hard.

“Thanks, Dad,” they chorused; they added, “Thanks, Papa,” almost as an afterthought, because they knew that Geno was weak to their ways and always folded like a bad hand whenever they gave him the sad puppy eyes. Geno always maintains that it’s because they have _Sid’s_ eyes, and he’s been trained his whole adult life to be weak to those eyes.

“Exciting new plans don’t mean you don’t have to do your homework,” Geno reminded them, because he liked to pretend that he could be a disciplinarian, all evidence to the contrary. The girls rolled their eyes and ran up the stairs to their rooms, exuding relief and happiness so strongly that even Sid, read-blind as he is, could practically see it rolling off of them.

He waited until they were out of hearing and out of reading-range, which wasn’t far, before turning to Geno and asking, incredulous, “ _America?_ ”

Geno just shook his head. “I don’t know, Sid. I don’t know.”

“ _America?_ ” Sid asked again. “I feel like I failed them as a father, Geno.”

It’s not like the girls didn’t have other options. A major reason they’d settled on Geno as the biological father was that it was important to Geno that the kids have access to Russian citizenship if they ever wanted it. Sid, their other legal parent, was Canadian, so the girls both had Canadian citizenship, but Sid and Geno had picked a surrogate in Pittsburgh, and the girls had been born there, so they were American citizens, too. After the girls were born, the guys had actually started chirping Sid about his American “anchor babies” – maybe that was the first hint of trouble, Sid concluded glumly.

“They’re American kids, Sid,” Geno pointed out, shrugging. “They’ve never lived anywhere else. This country is what they know. We went to Canada for holidays, some summers, but they’ve gone to American schools and made American friends this whole time.”

It’s true – the girls mostly grew up in Pittsburgh, and they stayed there even after Sid retired and took the coaching job with Wilkes-Barre. From there they went straight to Denver for Sid’s job with the Avs. So maybe Sid _should_ have seen this coming… but he didn’t.

He got up from the couch and started pacing, running a hand through his hair. “I need to… need to—”

“Call Tazer,” Geno said, picking Sid’s phone out from between the couch cushions where it had fallen out of his pocket. Sid stared for a moment, then snatched the phone up. “Have a little Canadian freak-out party.”

“You’re a genius,” he told Geno fervently, pulling up Johnny’s number.

“I know,” Geno said comfortably, already playing Candy Crush on his own phone.

Sid tapped the little picture of Johnny’s face on his phone screen. Johnny picked up on the first ring. “Sid?”

“Johnny,” Sid blurted, knowing his face must look crazy. “Something’s gone wrong.”

Johnny’s face transformed into an expression of concern. “What’s wrong, Sid?”

“It’s the girls.”

“Holy shit – Sid, what happened?”

“They’re going to play for the U.S.,” Sid said miserably. “They just accepted an invitation to the U.S. Women’s National Team Development Program.” It belatedly occurred to him that he might not have a normal person’s sense of perspective about this, and that Johnny might not think that this was all that big a deal, so he was incredibly relieved when Johnny’s face broke into a look of agony, and he murmured, “Oh, Sid.”

“I _know_.”

“That’s—that’s rough, man.”

“I feel like this is my fault,” Sid said, pacing across the living room. “I didn’t take them to Canada enough. I didn’t talk to them enough about Canada.”

But Johnny shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, Sid. You took them to Canada when you could. Your whole life was in Pittsburgh.”

“No, you’re right,” Sid agreed, sighing. He saw the sense in what Johnny was saying. “Still. The _U.S. National Team._ In _Illinois_.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with Illinois,” Johnny said sharply.

Sid rolled his eyes.

More gently, Johnny said, “I’ll keep an eye on them Sid. I promise.”

“Not too much eye,” Geno cautioned from over Sid’s shoulder. “We don’t want them to feel like we’re spying on them.”

“I’ll keep it subtle.” Johnny gave Sid a more serious look. “You know the press is going to be on this like white on rice.”

“Shit.” Sid scrubbed a hand over his face, knowing Johnny was right. He and Geno had enforced media distance from the girls with an iron fist, but this was legitimately newsworthy, and the kind of story that media outlets would love. “I’ll talk to the NTDP people about keeping it quiet. The girls say they probably won’t be on the roster this year, so hopefully we’ll have a year’s reprieve before all hell breaks loose.”

“I’ll run interference where I can,” Johnny promised, and that was worth a lot – Johnny’s wife was pretty high up in Hockey Canada and he wasn’t too proud to trade on it. He could probably keep the Canadian side of it hush-hush, at least for a while.

“Thanks, Johnny. That means a lot.”

Johnny shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “They’re good kids. The best.”

“Your own aren’t so bad.”

“Eh.” Johnny shrugged again, and said, deadpan. “I guess they’re all right.”

Sid heard a “ _Da-aaad!_ ” from somewhere behind Johnny, and grinned. “Seriously, Johnny. Thanks for talking me down.”

“No problem. Take care, Sid.”

“Will do. Bye.”

Sid stood still for a moment, staring down at the phone screen as it went dark. He could feel Geno walking up behind him, and when Geno wrapped his arms around Sid, Sid went boneless in his arms. “Sorry, Sid,” Geno murmured in his ear. “I know you wanted to coach them to a gold medal.”

Sid felt incredibly selfish, suddenly – here he was, complaining about their daughters never playing for _his_ nation, never getting the chance to coach them into winning for _his_ home country, while Geno—

The girls had never even been to Russia; the Gonchars had offered to take them when they were younger, but Geno didn’t feel like he could go back, and it was too painful for him to have the girls go without him. They had Russian names, Russian citizenship, spoke Russian fluently, made huge batches of pelmeni with Geno’s mom, celebrated New Year’s with Geno’s parents and the Gonchars, but in their hearts, they were North American through and through. Geno never said a word about it, but he had to know, and it had to hurt. He’d worked so hard to give the girls a connection to Russian culture, _his_ culture, and they were always game… but it wasn’t really a part of them the way it was a part of Geno. It had never occurred to Sid that the girls might play for Russia, which was stupid, actually: on the weaker Russian team, the girls would instantly be stars, rather than the talented role players they’d be on a Canadian or American team. But he bet it had occurred to Geno. Maybe Sid’s wasn’t the only dream the girls had left behind today.

“It’s okay,” Sid said, leaning back into the warmth of Geno’s body. “It’s their hockey, and their careers – we don’t get to make those decisions for them. That’s a good thing, probably.”

Geno knew—of course he knew—what Sid was thinking of just then, and he left a kiss just below Sid’s ear. “Yes.”

***

The really odd thing about that day, Sid reflects, was that the shock of the girls’ decision was so overwhelming that he and Geno had never actually thought to ask the girls _why_. When Geno had pointed out that the girls had lived in the U.S. their whole lives, pretty much, that seemed likely enough, and Sid had just assumed that that was their reasoning.

And Sid had gone on assuming that for four years, until today, when P.K. forwarded him a YouTube link with the subject line “ _Your daughters have gone viral_.”

Sid groans, then calls, “Geno!”

Geno comes ambling into the room, and Sid silently holds up his tablet for Geno to read. When Geno sees the subject line, he gives Sid a look of dread that absolutely matches Sid’s own reaction. He sits down heavily next to Sid on the couch, and Sid mutters, “I really hope they’re not naked,” as he hits play.

The good news is that they’re fully dressed – of course, they’re dressed in their Team USA jerseys, which even after four years is still slightly traumatic for Sid. It’s an interview, part of the hype for the Almaty Olympics coming up in a couple months. It’s so by-the-book that Sid can almost recite both sides along with the video: isn’t eighteen very young to be on an Olympic hockey team; yes, we’re very honored; will your coach be playing you together; that’s up to Coach Chu, but we hope so; how do you feel about the rivalry with Canada; it’s great motivation and great for the sport.

But then the interviewer asks, “You two were almost _on_ the Canadian national team, is that right?”

Anya usually handles most of the press, and this interview is no exception. She says, “I don’t know about ‘almost.’ It was an option, for sure. When we were fourteen, we got inquiries from a few national programs, but we decided on the USA.”

“A few?” The interviewer raises an eyebrow. “That would be the USA, Canada, and…”

“Russia,” Katya says.

Sid and Geno exchange a look – they hadn’t known that the Russians had been in contact with the girls. The girls had never mentioned it.

“Of course,” the interviewer says. “One of your fathers, Evgeni Malkin, is a Russian national. And your other father, Sidney Crosby, is a Canadian national. What made you two decide on the U.S. team?”

Anya and Katya hold each other’s gaze for a long minute of silence, and then Anya says quietly, “If you know who our fathers are, then you probably know that the Russian hockey federation declared Papa ‘morally ineligible’ to compete for Russia when they found out that he was bonded to Dad. As far as I know, Papa is _still_ banned from representing Russia in international competition, in any capacity.”

Katya breaks in. “When they approached us, they made a bunch of noise about how it was so ‘regrettable,’ and whatever, but that they’d be willing to ‘forgive and forget’ if we were. They actually said that,” she spits – her fists are clenched in her lap. “That they’d be willing to _forgive_ Papa. As if Papa had done something wrong. As if they somehow needed to forgive _him_ for _them_ being bigots. They broke his heart,” Katya says. Sid is shocked to see tears gathering in her eyes – that’s not Katya, not his steely warrior. “And they wanted us to come make them look good. Eff that.”

Calm as still water, but as implacable as her sister, Anya says, “They had their chance to have a Malkin represent Russia, and they threw it away. We decided they didn’t deserve another chance.”

The bland, stilted atmosphere that had characterized the interview before is gone. Even the interviewer in her beige skirt suit looks worked up, and she leans forward eagerly to ask, “So I imagine that gives you an extra boost of motivation when you’ll face the Russians in the group stage?”

Anya shrugs. “Not really. It’s not the players’ fault – most of the girls weren’t even born when the federation banned Papa.”

“Anya’s nicer than I am,” Katya says, grinning. “I wouldn’t mind showing them what they could have had if they’d been better to Papa.”

The interviewer smiles back. “I don’t think anyone could blame you. So that’s Russia. Why not Canada?”

Anya takes this one. Choosing her words carefully, she says, “We’d already decided against Russia, so it was between Canada and the U.S. The teams are very comparable in terms of player development, level of play, things like that. Ultimately, we decided that we couldn’t reject Russia and accept Canada. It would have looked like we were picking Dad over Papa.”

“You don’t know Papa,” Katya interjects. “I think, secretly, he’d always been hoping that we might play for Russia – do what he couldn’t, I guess. He forgave them. And Dad really wanted us to play for Canada, too. We couldn’t pick one and not the other. So we went with the USA team, and it was a great choice.”

“We’re really happy with our decision to play for Team USA,” Anya finishes smoothly, and the interview is back on track.

Sid shuts off the tablet. He reaches out for Geno’s hand, and Geno meets him halfway and interlaces their fingers. They sit there on the couch for a half hour or so while they wait. Eventually, they hear the thumping of feet pounding up the steps outside—like a two-person herd of elephants, Sid’s mom always joked—and the girls burst through the door, laughing. He should stop calling them girls, Sid knows. They’re young women, now. But they’re the same children he’s loved every time he’s seen them come bounding through that door with hockey bags swinging. They look more like Geno than ever, still growing into their lanky limbs, but their square shoulders are Sid’s. You never get used to how much you love them. It can still hit you out of nowhere, a slap shot from empty ice.

Anya’s still cracking up about whatever they were talking about when they came in, but Katya peers into the living room at Sid and Geno and asks, “Are you two just sitting in the dark staring at nothing? Oh my God, Dad, did the Avs finally break you?”

Sid says calmly, “You two have gone viral, apparently.”

Anya and Katya look equally confused until identical looks of comprehension dawn on their faces. Suddenly neither of them can make eye contact with Sid or Geno.

“You say one interesting thing in front of a camera,” Katya mutters, scuffing her foot on the parquet flooring.

Despite having had a half an hour to think about it, Sid doesn’t actually know what to say at this point. That’s he’s proud of them? He is, but he’s not sure he could explain why. That he wishes they’d told him and Geno about all this back when they were trying to make a decision? He does, but that’s water under the bridge now.

Anya ventures, “We should have told you. We know that.”

“It was your decision to make. We couldn’t do it for you – not either one of us,” Sid replies, and he means it.

“After we said it,” Katya says, looking upset, “we realized how it sounded: as if we were going to hurt Papa’s feelings, so we had to hurt yours, too. Which would be totally awful, that’s _not_ how it was—”

“I know that,” Sid assures her. “I knew what you meant.”

There’s another moment of silence after that, before Geno stands up and beckons the girls over. They crowd into one big hug, and Geno buries his face in Katya’s hair. His shoulders begin to shake. Sid’s on his feet in an instant, but the girls felt it first – they’re weak readers, but unlike him, they _can_ read.

“Papa,” Katya says anxiously. She continues in a mix of English and Russian—fortunately basic enough that Sid can follow along. “ _Papa, what’s wrong? We’re sorry, Papa –_ we didn’t mean to hurt your feelings _. Please, Papa, don’t be sad._ ”

“I’m sorry they talked that way to you,” Geno says to the girls, his voice rough and clogged with tears. “I’m sorry you two had to hear that. They had no right.” He lets go of Anya to drag his sleeve across his face, wiping off the tears. Then Geno pulls back to look at the pair of them, a hand on each of their shoulders. He says soberly, “You said I wanted you to play for Russia. Not true. I wanted you to feel like you could have a home in Russia if you wanted one. I wanted you to know where you come from. But I picked your father—I picked our family—over Russia. I could never, never be disappointed in you for doing the same thing.”

At that, Anya starts crying, too – Katya, on the other hand, looks deeply moved for about ten seconds, then shoots Sid a look saying, _Help, help, people are having emotions on me_ , because even though Geno is her favorite, she’s more like Sid than she likes to admit. Sid rescues her by joining the group hug briefly, then stepping back, giving her an excuse to do the same.

“Does this mean I can finally admit how horrified I was at being forced to cheer for the Americans for the last four years?” Sid asks, intentionally breaking the mood.

Anya gives him a fond look. “You know we can read, right? I mean, not well, we suck and you shield like a champ, but...”

“You never said anything!”

“But you tried so hard to hide it, Sid,” Geno says, eyes wide like he’s never seen anything so precious, as if Sid can’t tell he’s about to start laughing.

“I’m not cheering for you this time,” Sid grumps.

“Obviously.” Katya rolls her eyes. “You’d be a pretty shitty Canadian coach if you did.”

Anya shuffles over and rests her head on his shoulder – she’s tall enough to do that, now, which surprises Sid every time. “We’ve probably got, what, Kat – four Olympics, at least?”

Katya counts out loud. “Eighteen, twenty-two, twenty-six, thirty. Yeah, at least that.”

“We could probably spare the Canadians one,” Anya says, wrapping herself around Sid’s arm. “Let Dad coach us one more time.”

There was a time that Sid would have leaped at the opportunity, but he shakes his head. “When you have a team, you stick with your team.”

“Like you guys did,” says Anya, and Sid and Geno share a smile.

“Yeah,” Sid says softly, still looking at Geno. “Like us.” He’s talking about the Penguins, of course, but also about this: their team of two that became a team of four, and then, when sleepless nights and baby vomit had taken their toll, revealed itself to have been a much bigger team all along – a team of Taylor, and Johnny, and the Crosbys, the Malkins, the Gonchars, and the Lemieuxs, and many more. You can come to a team by luck, like Sid did, or by a daring transcontinental escape, like Geno did, or out of love, like the girls did. (And that’s it, Sid thinks, finally able to articulate it. That’s why he’s proud.) But when you find a team where you belong, you stick with your team. Even if that team is the fucking U.S. National Team.


End file.
